Beta: Youkai Kisaki
Fuji kept his eyes diverted from his reflection on the mirror, and tried instead to keep his gaze on the large man standing behind him. Kabaji's fingers brushing against his neck, cleaning the wound from blood and tying bandages were gentle, something Fuji would not have expected from the man.
He chuckled out loud at the thought. He of all people should know that appearances did not always match with what was inside.
That thought finally made him face his own reflection, and what he saw was what he had always seen when he looked at his own image. A boy who looked too frail and feminine to be counted as a grown man. He smiled - too much, Yuuta always said. Even when he wanted to weep, he smiled. He nearly always kept his eyes closed, because it was easier to hide what he felt, than let it show in his eyes, because what people saw made them uncomfortable. Even his family, even Yuuta.
The only one who'd never been uncomfortable, or at least had never shown it, was Atobe. It had been the first clue Fuji had that there was something different about the man. Something else besides the fact that he clearly belonged in a place far grander than their little town was.
And there had been only clues, little things that meant nothing on their own, and Fuji did not think anyone else had put them together and arrived in the same conclusion he had. And before tonight, even he had not been sure, not before he had pressed his ear against Atobe's chest and had not heard a heartbeat.
He knew it had been a stupid thing to do, and knew he was lucky to still be alive. He'd counted on the friendship he had with Atobe, believed that what they had built in only a few months was genuine, that Atobe cared for him as he cared for the other man. But it had been a risk, believing that a monster could have human emotions. But a risk he had been willing to take for Yuuta.
Because there was no more hope for Yuuta. The doctor had told them to prepare and their father had gathered the family to pray. Not to pray for Yuuta's healing, but so that his soul would reach heaven. Yuuta was dying, but Fuji was not willing to let him go. He had known there had to be a way, and then there had been.
He'd seen Atobe cut his hand on a knife, watched the man wince from the pain, seen the drops of blood on the floor, but when he'd reached the man there hadn't been a wound, and somehow the blood on the floor had disappeared. Fuji would have suspected his own memory, if Atobe had not told him to not ask. There should be no need to tell him to not ask, if there had not been answers Atobe was not willing to give.
He'd first considered the possibility that Atobe was an angel. He certainly looked the part, but he did not act it. So the next logical thing was demons. And for Yuuta Fuji was prepared to sell his soul.
But Atobe's skin hadn't burned when he'd spilled holy water on it. And he'd thanked Fuji's sister with a truly delighted smile when she'd given him a cross to wear around his neck, after she'd learned he did not have one.
That was when Fuji had abandoned God. If God had not sent Atobe to save or to damn them, He was nothing to Fuji. If God would not save Yuuta, Fuji would. He did not care what price he would have to pay, his life or his soul, he would give anything for Yuuta to live.
And Fuji was sure the answer, Yuuta's salvation lay in Atobe's hands.
When Atobe had arrived to their village Fuji had written to a friend that lived in London, and asked of Atobe. His friend's letter had arrived only a few weeks ago, and in it he'd told all he knew of the Atobe family. There was nothing special, or scandalous. The family was well respected and wealthy. The only interesting thing that Fuji's friend had known of had been about the current Earl of Atobe, a young man not much older than Fuji, who had disappeared two years ago along with his steward.
Other disappearances had occurred in the area at the same time, including two mysterious men that only Atobe and a missing gardener called Ohtori had ever met. Later the gardener's body had been found rotting in the basement of the house the two mysterious strangers had stayed in. Fuji's friend also told of rumours that claimed that the body had been entirely drained of blood. 'The villagers are screaming vampires, and want the house burned, and then the site blessed by a priest. Don't you just love peasants?' Fuji's friend had written in his letter, and the comment had made Fuji laugh. But not at the peasants.
Vampires. He now had something to look for.
The priest that had shepherded the Malsbry parish before Fuji's father had been a man that had a large book collection on things that no man of God should be interested in. One of the first things Fuji's father had done when he'd taken over the Malsbry parish was to lock all those heathen books behind a stern lock in his study.
From a very young age Fuji had learnt that if something was behind a lock, it was interesting. So Fuji had learnt to get around locks. The first lock he had gotten past was the lock that protected those forbidden books. He had not known how to read them then, but the pictures of horrifying monsters in dark woods, of tortured human bodies, the victims of terrifying creatures that held only a fraction of humanity in their form, had been enough for him.
But when Atobe arrived, Fuji had learnt to read the writing in those books, and in one of them he found a passage that told of monsters that fed on the blood of humans, and lived forever, never growing old. Eternally young, stronger than any human, who with their mind could command the elements and animals, and with their allure could seduce even the most virtuous of men.
He read what little there was told of those creatures, of how they feared the daylight, and slept in dark places where the sun could not reach them. The book said they were human once, these creatures, but it did not tell how they came to exist. But it did tell that only those that had once died could rise again, as a creature that craved for human blood to replace the cold of death that had claimed its body. To become a vampire, you must first die at the hands of one.
To take a life, and in such a manner... A creature that lived on the blood of a human could not be something that existed in the grace of God. That Fuji even considered befriending one meant his soul was already condemned.
But for Yuuta to live he would do anything, even if it meant that his brother would lose his place in God's merciful light. But Fuji did not think anyone would choose death, if they could have life. To live, even as a sinner was worth more than a dark and cold grave. Why wait to be resurrected on Judgement Day when you could still walk among the living when the dead rose from their graves?
Now he had only needed to be certain that Atobe was what he thought the man to be, that he could end Yuuta's suffering. And when he would have that certainty, he would ask Atobe to save his brother, share his gift with Yuuta. He had never thought that Atobe would deny him.
And he still couldn't believe it. That Atobe had said no. That there would be no magic blood, no miracles of the darkness for Yuuta and him. His brother would die, instead of becoming immortal.
Fuji narrowed his eyes at the boy he saw in the mirror. Was he really going to let Atobe do this to Yuuta? Yuuta was so young, not even twenty yet, and he had fallen ill when he had turned seventeen, at the peak of his youth. He had lived so fully, embracing everything with an open heart, with such passion and hunger it made Fuji feel ashamed at the apathetic way he himself did everything.
The light had dimmed in Yuuta's eyes when the illness came, it ate away at the passion and fury that Fuji so loved and treasured. It pained him to see it fade, to see Yuuta's fire dim. Yuuta's death would make his life bleak and meaningless.
Determined to have his way Fuji left the room, brushing away Kabaji's hands. He walked down the stairs and along the narrow corridor towards the room where he had left Atobe and the stranger. He did not hear them speak as he approached. He stopped beside the door, leaned against the wall, and listened.
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"Come home," Sanada spoke. There was no plead in his voice, he was not asking.
"Hmm, you've grown impatient suddenly?" Atobe murmured with a slow smile, his eyelids resting heavily over his eyes. He raised his hand to let his fingers brush against the scowl on the other man's face, but Sanada rose from his kneeling position and walked to the window from where you could in the daylight follow the people of the town as they carried out their errands.
Now the only image before Sanada was the same Atobe had seen on many nights. An empty street, with a few lanterns that gave a red glow on the pebbles, and darkened windows on the house against the one they now occupied.
Atobe did not know if there was a moon out tonight, if it was a full moon, only a half, or a crescent one in the sky, nor did he know if there were clouds, or if you could see the stars against the velvety darkness.
Sanada turned from the window to let his eyes roam over the room again, and when he found nothing interesting in it, his gaze returned to rest upon Atobe, who smirked at the solemn expression Sanada wore.
"As much as I would like to see you smile upon hearing me comply to your request," Atobe said, making sure Sanada knew Atobe had not heard his words as a command, refused to do so, and would never follow any order Sanada gave him. "I will not do so at the expense of my comfort."
"The boy means so much to you?" That simple question from Sanada told Atobe more than if he had read Sanada's thoughts. Any answer he gave now would mean nothing. Sanada had already decided that it was because of Fuji he had stayed in this town, refused to return.
"No, he does not," Atobe answered, telling the truth. Or perhaps he was lying, and Fuji meant more to him than even he had thought, because Sanada smiled. Yet it was not a smile Atobe enjoyed seeing on Sanada's face. It was much too cruel. "But you do not believe that, do you?"
"It is of no consequence what I believe," Sanada answered, confirming what Atobe had suspected. That Fuji's fate had already been decided, and nothing he could say or do would change that. And the knowledge, the certainty made him feel a chill he had not felt for two years, never since he had died and been born again as a demon with no soul, and an unholy desire for the thick blood that flowed so richly in the veins of those he had once called his fellowmen. He feared, feared for the life of Fuji, for his soul. Feared for a human as if he still were one.
"You do not understand," Atobe finally spoke. "He loves his brother."
"That is only normal," Sanada replied slowly.
Atobe chuckled. "It is anything but normal. The love he holds for his brother goes beyond that which usually exists between brothers, and he…" Atobe sighed. "Is different."
"Different?"
"They call him a genius, the people of this town." Atobe spoke to the empty space beside Sanada's head. "And he is intelligent, cleverer than anyone in his family or in this town. He bores easily, and that boredom is the dangerous kind. He is dangerous."
"He cannot be any more dangerous than any of us," Sanada said, and Atobe finally met his eyes.
"No, not as he is now," Atobe agreed. "But if you burden him with the same hunger that burns in us, it will overwhelm him."
"The hunger overwhelms us all at one time or another," Sanada replied calmly, refusing to take Atobe's warning seriously. "You still have not said anything that would explain why you are so against this. And it is what he wants."
"You do not always need to follow his wishes," Atobe said, and stood. "You have a mind of your own. Use it!" he yelled, enraged. "It sickens me how you grovel at his feet like a lapdog!"
"Be careful Atobe. I am not like Kirihara whom you can insult without fear of reprisal," Sanada growled, clenching his jaw, and Atobe grinned when he saw Sanada's hand twitch.
"Would you like to punish me for my arrogance?" Atobe purred, and glided through the room so he could let his palm rest on Sanada's chest. "Strike at me, make me bleed and whimper at your feet, begging for mercy?" he whispered, almost seductively, and Sanada found himself smiling at this strange behaviour.
"What is this?" he asked, taking Atobe's jaw between two of his fingers and tilting up the pale face. "You are not one to enjoy pain."
Atobe laughed breathily, and coiled his fingers around the wrist of the hand that held his jaw. "No, but I enjoy seeing you lose control. Because it is the only time you are truly free of him."
Sanada scoffed and released Atobe's face. "I do not understand you," he said, and walked away from Atobe. "You would accept pain in my hands for that?"
"Yes." The word came from Atobe's mouth with such strength and emotion it made Sanada shiver. "I want you to be free of him. I want us to be free of him."
"I do not follow him out of necessity," Sanada said.
"Why you follow him at all, is what I do not understand," Atobe growled. "And because he told you, you will destroy the lives of these-"
"So it is about him," Sanada interrupted him, and Atobe's eyes grew wide as he realized his mistake. "You would say anything to keep me from doing as Yukimura wishes."
"No!" Atobe yelled, his voice thin from the sudden panic coursing through him. He could not have cared less about Fuji now, and he needed to make Sanada understand that. "I may care for him, but you mean more to me. You know that. There isn't anyone else in this world I care for more than I care for you."
"So you will not protest?" Sanada asked, and Atobe scowled.
"You will not turn his fate into a test of my affections for you!" Atobe yelled. "He deserves more than that. He would deserve more even if I did not know him. No one deserves to be turned into a monster simply because of some test of affection or loyalty, or because Yukimura wishes to punish me!"
"It was never anything so trivial when he chose you," Sanada spoke gently, thinking he had finally understood the reason behind Atobe's bitterness.
"Do you think I care for his reasons!" Atobe screamed. "They do not matter! Have never mattered!"
"Then what is it that matters?" Sanada asked. "I do not understand. Tell me," he pleaded.
Atobe scowled, and chewed on his lip. It was something he could never explain to Sanada, the reason why he fought so vehemently against every bit of control Yukimura tried to have over him. He hardly understood them all himself. He resented Yukimura for being stronger, more powerful, for having so much more than he did. He remembered how taken he had been by the man when he had first met him, and he had not even seen his face then. He could still do that to Atobe, could still be-spell him with a single smile or a word.
Yukimura had taken his life, had taken upon himself to decide that Atobe would never again be able to call himself the Earl of Atobe, could never return home. So many of Atobe's choices had been taken away from him when Yukimura had arrived.
There would never have been an opportunity to betray Shishido, leave Ohtori to his death if Yukimura had not arrived. It was his choice to leave Ohtori to them, but by choosing Ohtori Yukimura had laid the seed of Atobe's deed. Had Yukimura never arrived, Atobe would have lived on, resenting Ohtori for what he had. But he would have lived.
And even after all he had done, forsaken Ohtori and slain his brother; even then he could have still continued to live as himself. In a year or two he might have returned home, when certain no one suspected him of anything. But not now, when Yukimura had taken away his breath and heart beat. He could not return home as a dead man.
So many choices, and within a span of an hour Yukimura had robbed them all from him. And he had no doubt all Yukimura had thought of then was his lust. He had never given a thought to what it would mean to Atobe, this curse, to live as a walking corpse, to feel the burning hunger for blood, to know you had become a monster.
Atobe did not think he still possessed a soul, and if he did, it had shrivelled up and turned into an ugly stain after the first time the blood of a human had touched his lips.
"Do not ask when you know you will never receive an answer that will please you," Atobe finally answered Sanada.
"What do you mean?" Sanada asked despite the refusal, and Atobe sighed tiredly.
"I will never cease to resent him for what he did. And you will never understand that." Tired of this argument they'd had countless of times, Atobe returned to his chair and sat down on it. He glanced at the door, and with pained eyes turned to Sanada. "I will ask you once more to reconsider this."
When Sanada only looked at him, Atobe growled, and his voice dripping with hostility, yelled, "You may enter now, Fuji!"
Fuji pushed open the door, and raised his eyes to Sanada. "Will you tell me what I need to know so that I can save my brother?" he asked, his voice shaking, but filled with such aggravating certainty that it reminded Sanada of Atobe.
He looked at the boy. It was not by his own choice that Sanada would do this, bring another mortal to the world of darkness and bloodlust, but he did not find it repulsive, the thought of sinking his teeth in to the youth's creamy skin and to taste the blood that's scent had lingered in Atobe's breath.
"I will show you," Sanada answered, anxious to begin. "Come," he told the boy, who began to walk towards him.
The boy did not come straight to him, but stopped before Atobe's chair, and waited there until Atobe turned to look at him. "I wanted it to be you," Fuji said.
"It is too much to ask, Fuji, I-" Atobe looked away and closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he did not turn to look at the boy, but kept his eyes on Sanada. "You shall receive what you desire from him. Be content with that. I wish you well, but do not expect things to remain the same between us."
"You would abandon me because of this?" Fuji sounded heartbroken, looked desperate in the face of Atobe's abandonment. "Because I cannot let my brother die?"
"It is not life that you ask." Atobe sounded emotionless, but Sanada saw the pain on his face, the turmoil he refused to let Fuji see. "We can only bring death, never life. Think carefully if that is the gift you wish to share with your brother."
"I cannot lose him," Fuji spoke with anguish, and fell on his knees, his hands reaching out to grasp Atobe's knees. "He is the only light in my life, the only truly good thing I have ever come across, and if he dies there will be nothing but darkness left for me."
"What good there is in him will be lost the moment blood touches his lips. He will become a monster that's survival requires the death of others. If it is the good in him you so cherish, why do you wish to destroy that?" Atobe asked, his voice light, as if he did not care, but his pained eyes were pinned on Sanada's face.
"Because he is dying!" Fuji screamed, causing Atobe to finally look at him.
"Let him," Atobe hissed, leaning over the boy who refused to flinch, or back down.
"I have had enough of this," Sanada spoke, interrupting the two. "The boy has made his choice, Atobe. You will have to accept this."
Atobe turned his furious glare on him, but like Fuji, Sanada did not recoil from it. "You can leave now, or you may stay, if you wish," Sanada continued. "But understand this, there is nothing you can do or say that will alter his fate."
"You have made that very clear." Atobe was not even attempting to hide his anger. "This is a mistake. And when it all comes crashing down I hope you'll be buried under it!"
Sanada was not shocked by the hostility, because he did not believe it to be entirely genuine. He knew Atobe must care for the boy and that he did not want him to be turned, but there was no reason why he should loathe it this much. He was convinced Atobe was dramatizing everything simply because he could not get his way, could not get Sanada to follow his orders instead of those given to him by Yukimura.
Sanada made his way to the boy, still kneeled before Atobe, laid his hand on his shoulder and waited for those strange blue eyes to look up at him. They were still guarded, and filled with hurt because of Atobe's words. "Do not concern yourself with him or his words anymore," Sanada told the boy. "Now you need only concern yourself with me, and we will be tied together for eternity by the blood." He spoke the same words Yukimura had spoken to him, and though he knew his tone lacked the gentleness Yukimura could speak them with, he saw them comfort and ease the boy.
It was not difficult after that to make the boy rise and take his hands, to lead him through the room to the back of the house and out to the garden. The night air, the bright moon and the scent of grass and dirt would be more pleasing to the senses of a new vampire, than any sensation that could be felt indoors.
Outside now, Sanada pressed his hand against the boy's face. "Calm," Sanada whispered when he felt the boy tense. "It does not need to hurt. Trust me. I will not let you feel the pain."
"How?" Fuji asked. "How can it not hurt, when you will have to…" his voice faded, and he lifted his hand to his neck where Atobe had bitten him.
Sanada took Fuji's hand from the neck and placed his hand there instead. "Atobe did that to you with the intention of causing pain. But it does not need to be like that. There need be no pain, only a sweet dream where you will feel nothing but contentment, and when the time is ripe you shall rise as a being that does not need to concern itself with such things, and you will learn the pleasure and fulfilment that comes with the blood."
"There is pleasure in the blood?" Fuji whispered. "The books never spoke of that. They only mentioned eternal life. I thought it was just a way to survive, not something to gain pleasure from…"
"Books?" Sanada asked, and allowed his mind seek the answer from the boy's mind. He smiled when he found the gruesome images and the ancient texts. "Not all answers can be found on books," he finally said. "Close your eyes, and let me guide you through your death and rebirth."
Fuji shivered at the word death, and drew back from the man, the memory of the pain Atobe had caused returning. When Sanada leaned closer, Fuji flinched, and pressed his eyes shut tightly. He tensed even more when Sanada's hands landed on his shoulders. He jumped a little when he felt a warm breath of air against his ear and Sanada spoke to him. "This is what he wanted, Fuji, don't let yourself be manipulated by him. You do not need to fear me, or the pain."
"You said there would be no pain," Fuji whispered accusingly, keeping his eyes closed.
"Only in the beginning," Sanada assured him, voice almost gentle. "And only a little." His voice had lowered, and Fuji imagined hearing a smile in the voice. It piqued his curiosity, and he opened his eyes and saw that although there was no smile on the man's lips, his eyes twinkled, as if he found Fuji amusing. It made Fuji feel ridiculous. He wanted to apologize for his reaction, but thought that would only make him seem even more ridiculous, so he stayed quiet, and forced himself to face Sanada's eyes and the warm laughter in them.
The dark brown of Sanada's eyes was so dark that it reminded Fuji of the well in the centre of their town. It had always seemed bottomless to him. You could never see the water, not even during the day when the sun was at its highest, and the light should have been reflected on the surface of the water. But there was never anything but darkness, and an endless void in the well.
That is what Fuji saw when he looked into Sanada's eyes; an endless void that pulled on him till he felt he would be forever lost in its depths. But in the endless and bottomless darkness he found warmth and comfort, a kind soul that wrapped itself around him.
When the pain came, it seemed distant, and faraway. It did not matter, the pain, when he could lose himself in the comfort of the darkness.
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Atobe sat in his chair, fuming with anger, not sure who the hatred was directed at.
He could not really blame Fuji for asking for a way to save his brother, and he did not wish to hate him. But he knew it would never be the same after this. Fuji would be different. He knew it by the way he himself had changed.
The moment he had been brought back from the grips of the cold darkness he had thought was death come claim him, he had felt the differences in his body and in his mind. Things that had mattered before no longer held any importance. The only thing that had mattered was the sweet taste on his lips, and the blood that had flown through his body, changing his very being. He had felt the change, the death of his mortal body and the birth of a new, immortal one. And this new body had power, and he had felt that power only grow as he drank more blood, and he began to yearn it, not just the blood, but the strength and power he felt come with the blood.
He remembered pushing the vessel of that strength under him, remembered burrowing into that heat and feasting with the power, the liquid light, remembered the delirious sensation when the body under him had began to lose its radiance as his power grew.
Then he had been ripped from that feast only to be faced with another just as bright, but with a different shade to it, and fevered, he had melted into the new pleasure and ripped it of its strength to gain his own. And how delicious it had been to feel that power surrender to him, open and share willingly with him all it held.
He still craved for it every night, for that power to surrender to him. And with a pang of jealousy he realised that tonight that power would yield to Fuji.
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Darkness, Fuji thought, was more comforting than he had imagined. And so was the sound of his heart beat.
He had never noticed it, how calming and reassuring the beat was. Steadily it beat in his chest, making note of the time he spent on earth, counting the hours of his life.
It never stopped or paused, always beating when it should.
And then it stopped. Where there had once been a sound, there was now silence. What had once been warm was now cold. And the darkness no longer seemed so comforting, when it was silent and cold, and empty.
But then something filled the emptiness, something that glowed warmly, beckoning him. And a voice called out to him, and it echoed in the empty darkness, calling his name, pleading him to drink power, to have eternal life. To drink so he could live forever like a shadow among the mortals he had once, only mere moments ago been like.
The plead was followed by the touch of something warm and wet against his lips, and Fuji opened his mouth to drink like the voice had beckoned him. The liquid spilled past his lips to his mouth, and down his dry throat, the taste of it salty, like the sea, and yet it was sweet like honey, and more intoxicating than any wine that had ever passed his lips.
"That will do," a voice spoke, and Fuji opened his eyes, tore his mouth from the feast and gazed up at the sky filled with little diamonds that shone like billions of suns, but with a pale, white light not that of the day's yellow and gold. Blue, silver and white, the shades of darkness, too many colours to count, so many he did not have a name for them all. And all that in the sky. He almost feared to let his eyes rest upon the earth, where the colours would be more plentiful.
And then there were the sensations that flooded over him. He felt the ground under him, the little insects crawling amongst the grass, heard the wind as it brushed against the leafs of the trees, against the ceilings, and the rocks on the ground, pebbles amongst the dust of the streets, the life that beat all around him, the hundreds of hearts that beat, replacing the sound of his heart beat that was no longer there.
But amongst all that he felt, the one thing he felt most keenly, the thing that threatened to overwhelm him was the presence of the creature that was kneeling beside him. It radiated of power and smelt of blood he could still taste in his mouth.
And he knew him, this man. It was like a warm glow in the back of his mind, his presence, more familiar to him than even his own mind.
Fuji reached out with his hand, hesitated, his palm hovering over the chest of that strangely familiar man, his hand shaking. He did not dare to touch this being, fearing the power he felt around him like the glow of the sun, but with no light or darkness. It was not something he saw, but felt with the tips of his fingers, a pressure against his skin. He knew that should the being so choose, that power could easily suffocate him, bury him under it, burn him to ashes.
"He will do no such thing," a familiar, brooding voice interrupted Fuji's musings and he looked up to Atobe's cold blue eyes, and gasped at how different and more beautiful the man looked now that he had new eyes with which to gaze upon him. "Sanada would not offer that much blood and power to someone he intended to destroy. You are safe from him." Fuji did not miss the implication that he was not safe from Atobe.
"Can I leave?" Fuji asked, and stood up. "Yuuta…"
Atobe laughed sharply, his head thrown back. "Yes Fuji, leave to condemn your brother," he spoke, still laughing, and turned his head to look at the figure sitting on the ground. "See how quickly he forgets what you have given him, in favour of his brother? I would be insulted, were I you."
"Lucky for us all then, that you are not me," Sanada answered, and stood slowly.
Atobe scoffed and turned to return inside the house. "We shall be here till morning, Fuji," he called, back still turned. "Should you need us."
Fuji frowned after him, wondering why Atobe would say that. "Wait!" he called after Atobe, who turned at his shout. "Why would you…?" he paused, and frowned. "You wouldn't say that, if there wasn't something…" he took two steps towards Atobe before stopping. "What do you know?"
The cold smile rising on Atobe's face frightened Fuji. "Don't let the morning creep up on you," he whispered with a voice as quiet as the gentle wind that played amongst the grass by their feet.
When Atobe had gone inside the house, leaving the door open to swing behind him, Fuji felt Sanada's hand land comfortingly on his shoulder, and turned to look at the taller man. "Do not let his words affect you," Sanada told him. "He is simply bitter that things did not go the way he wanted."
Fuji tilted his head in agreement, but could not force himself to be assured by Sanada's words. Despite the closeness he now felt with Sanada, Atobe had more of an affect on him. Perhaps it was because he still considered the other man as a friend, even after everything Atobe had said to him.
Sanada smiled grimly, and gave a wry laugh, a spark of amusement in the depths of his dark eyes. "He has that affect on me too," Sanada said, responding to Fuji's unspoken thoughts. "But he speaks the truth. Do not let the sun find your body, or you will perish. Find a safe place in which to sleep the day. And be careful around those you once knew. They might… notice the difference. The eyes of a loved one are quicker to notice things, than those of a stranger."
Fuji blinked, remembering his family. They would be there, of course. His parents would be sleeping, but Yumiko would be awake. She would wait for Fuji to come sit with Yuuta before going to bed. They had agreed to not leave Yuuta alone, and the Fuji siblings sat by their younger brother during the night, when their mother would be by Yuuta during the day. Their father joined her when he could. He could not abandon his duties even when his own son was dying. The wows he had given to the church meant more to him than his own family.
"Be careful of that bitterness you carry," Sanada told him. "You should not let it affect you anymore."
Fuji glanced at Sanada by cocking his head to the side. He had not noticed it before, but Sanada had been answering questions he had not spoken out loud, but only thought of. "Is it because of…" he paused, not sure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask, and waited to see if Sanada would answer even if he did not finish the sentence.
"Partly," Sanada said. "It is easier for me to read your thoughts because of the blood we share. But I could do the same to any human, and I suspect so could you. Unlike others, I am not capable of limiting the amount of power I give to those I make. You are almost as powerful as I am. A century, perhaps even less and you could match me in power, providing of course that I do not grow stronger during that time."
"Is that likely to happen?" Fuji asked, smiling.
Sanada did not answer his smile, and Fuji's smile slowly faded when the larger man only stared at him. Finally, when Fuji began to wonder if he had angered the other man somehow, Sanada answered with one word, "No." and followed Atobe inside the house.